[The screen, grainy black, white and sepia, shows a tiny garret room. Bare floorboards, a music stand, a bed and, on the floor, one Robert Chase tending to a broken violin.]
Of course, choose now to wear through. Now. I haven't the money for bread, and I'm wasting centimes on strings. [He releases the snapped catgut cord from the violin's
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Robert Chase. Your own?
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Do you think I should doubt your word, Robert Chase?
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...You have a deep voice for a player of the harp and the flute.
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